


Cýððu

by CaraLee



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraLee/pseuds/CaraLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were gone. With nothing left behind to show they had ever been there other than a burned out campfire, and the small golden-haired boy looking up at Merlin from beneath those ridiculous eyebrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Merlin and Arthur Meet Arthur

It was official, Merlin decides as he looks at the…problem he had somehow gotten stuck with. Any day that looked like it might be boring? Was lying. It was in disguise.

Because apparently there is no such thing as a quiet, boring day in his life.

X~X~X~X

It began when Merlin somehow became separated from Arthur while they were out hunting. Or rather, while Arthur was out hunting and had dragged him along to carry things. They had gone a little farther into the forest than usual, (on foot of course.) and that in and of itself had made Merlin uneasy.

And then they had been separated.

He still wasn't sure how they had managed it, but one moment Arthur had been there, and the next moment Merlin was on his own and very lost.

Over the next hour or so, Merlin wandered around, calling Arthur's name in low tones. (He'd had too many unpleasant encounters with bandits to start shouting, thank you very much.)

Then he'd heard a sound in a thicket and investigated. He'd found someone, but it hadn't been Arthur.

It was a child, a brown-haired boy with large, soft green eyes. He couldn't have been more than eight summers and was clad in rough garments that did little to hide the slight frame that was much thinner than a child his age should be, as if he was barely fending off starvation. But more than outward appearances, it was what Merlin felt from him. It was most definitely magic. And powerful magic at that, some of the most powerful that Merlin had ever seen.

The two of them had looked at each other for a moment before the boy had broken the silence.

"You are Emrys."

Merlin had panicked.

"I don't know what you are talking about." He'd stuttered out, backing away and reaching for his magic. Whoever, _whatever_ this boy was, he obviously knew things.

"Yes you do." The boy said calmly, and it was only then that Merlin realized they were speaking in his own language, the language of Ealdor and the lands around it. Not the Latin or Brythonic tongues spoken in Uther's kingdom.

"What are you?" Merlin straightened his back and stared at the child, who merely smiled.

"What do you think I am Emrys?" The boy looked straight into Merlin's eyes, and Merlin was caught in images of hills, fields, the old tree outside of Ealdor that he had climbed when he was younger, waves pounding on rocks, his mother's beloved herb garden where she tenderly raised the plants that she turned into simple remedies for the village…

Then the boy had looked away and Merlin struggled briefly with a sense of loss before the boy spoke again.

"Come with me Emrys."

Without waiting for any sort of reply to his command, the child turned and began jogging off. For lack of a better option, Merlin, still reeling from what he had felt and seen, followed him.

They had walked for nearly ten minutes before they came upon a small cave, and were accosted by yet another boy, this one some two or three summers elder than the first, with long, matted red hair and eyes that burned like a green flame. He too, seemed abnormally thin, but also felt of old, strong magic, and he brandished an intricately carved spear at Merlin expertly, despite his lack of age or weight.

"Who is this!" He snapped, speaking a rough dialect of Brythonic, deeply accented as if it was not his native language. "Why did you bring him here Cymru?"

The brown-haired boy, Cymru, ignored him and crawled into the cave, reemerging seconds later pulling a third boy, younger than he or the other, with green eyes like their own, but brighter than Cymru's and less bright than the red-head's. He had the most enormous eyebrows that Merlin had ever seen, their dark color contrasting darkly with his fair hair. The magic was practically pouring off of him.

Cymru walked up to Merlin, tugging the younger child behind him.

"This is Albion, Emrys. Take care of him."

"Cymru! What are you doing?" The red-head shouted, before falling into a long, loud rant in what Merlin thought was one of the Northern dialects. Cymru ignored him and pulled two bundles out of the cave while Merlin still stood with his mouth hanging open, mind running over the boy' sentences again and again.

_What does he mean, 'This is Albion'? Albion is the prophesied kingdom! Take care of him? What? And why is that kid named Cymru. I thought that was what the kingdoms of Gwynedd and Essetir were called?_

"We need to go, Caledonia." Cymru slung one of the bundles over his shoulder and lowered the other to the ground, where it uncurled, revealing itself as a very small girl, with a wild tangle of light-brown hair, who clung to Cymru's trouser leg with all the determination of one of Gaius' leeches.

"What?" The eldest boy stared for a moment, head swiveling to face first Merlin and the smallest boy, then Cymru and the girl. "What do you mean _bràthair_?"

"We aren't needed here anymore." Cymru said with a sad smile. "Emrys will take care of him. We aren't supposed to be here anyway."

"But-" The eldest boy, Caledonia (Wasn't that the name of the wild northern lands up beyond Caerleon?) seemed to wilt. "Are you sure?"

Cymru nodded. "I am sure."

There was a crashing sound from behind Merlin. He whirled around and could see Arthur approaching, obviously tracking him, and even more obviously annoyed. He turned back around to the strange, magical children…

And they were gone. With nothing left behind to show they had ever been there other than a burned out campfire, and the small golden-haired boy looking up at Merlin from beneath those ridiculous eyebrows.

_Just perfect._

" _Mer_ lin." Arthur's voice drawls from behind him. "What is this?"

Merlin pastes an over-large grin onto his face and turns around, beaming determinedly at the crown prince. "What is what?"

Arthur gives him the _Merlin-you-are-such-an-_ idiot look before pointing to the boy. (Merlin is determinedly not thinking about his name and what it might imply.)

"That Merlin. What is that?"

"Oh!" Merlin winces internally _._ "It's a boy."

"I can see that _Mer_ lin." Arthur's tone is hard, a sign that he really had better stop avoiding the question. "Who. Is. He?"

"Um." Merlin glances down at the child, who is alternating staring at Arthur and Merlin himself with something like hero-worship written all across his face.

For once, he decides to go with the truth, or part of it anyway. "I found him here." At Arthur's raised eyebrow he abandons "truth" and scrambles to fabricate something. "He said his parents were killed by bandits. He's been hiding here for at least a day."

Arthur immediately becomes alert, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of bandits, hand on the hilt of his sword. Once he is satisfied that there is no immediate threat, he whirls on his heel. "Right. Back to Camelot then. Bring your little ragamuffin Merlin and let's get a move on."

Merlin watched the prince's back in shock for a moment before hurrying to catch up, practically dragging the child along with him.

They traveled in silence for well over an hour, though after ten minutes Merlin had had to begin carrying the boy.

"So." Arthur abruptly breaks the silence. "What's your name." His voice is the least bit softer than usual and Merlin recognizes the concern in his tone. He simultaneously realizes that he has yet to hear the boy speak.

"My name is Albion." The child mutters quietly.

Arthur stopped walking and turned to face them.

"Your name is what? Speak up lad, I can't hear you."

The boy clears his throat and begins again as Merlin silently panics.

"My name is A-"

"Arthur." Merlin blurts out. "His name is Arthur." He finishes weakly as both the prince and the boy stare at him.

"Arthur." The prince says, deadpan. "His name is Arthur."

Merlin nods frantically. "Yes. His name is Arthur."

"That is my name Merlin."

"Well, it's his name too!"

"Is it really now."

"You don't own the name you know. Other people can be called Arthur too if they want!"

The two of them stare at each other for at least a minute before Arthur rolls his eyes and begins walking towards Camelot, which is now visible through the trees.

"If you say so _Mer_ lin."

"I do say so." The young warlock grumbles to himself as he sets the child on the ground, looking down at him seriously.

"We will talk, later, about who and what you are. But for now, you are Arthur. Got it?"

The child nods, seeming to mull the name over. "I'm Arthur."

Merlin nods tiredly, foreseeing several arguments with Gaius in his near future. "Yes, you are Arthur."

Then he takes the boy's hand and leads him towards Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to an English-Old English dictionary, "cýððu" translates to "native land" It was the closest I could find to "homeland" which is what I was looking for.  
> Bràthair = Scots Gaelic for "brother"  
> Caledonia = Scotland  
> Cymru = Wales  
> Albion (II) = England  
> The little girl is Cornwall, who would have been called "Kernow" by her brothers at this point in time.  
> ***  
> This story was originally a one-shot that was continued due to requests. That being said, expect delays in updates.


	2. In Which Gwen Meets Arthur

Merlin nearly turns around at least five times while climbing the staircases to the tower room that he shared with Gaius. The temptation to just take the…Albion back to the forest where he'd found him is very, very strong.

Somehow he knows that this…kid tops everything that he'd ever done before, including setting Kilgarrah free. In fact he is just gathering up the nerve to actually go back when they run into Gwen. Literally.

There are the usual slightly awkward greetings and apologies and offers of "here, let me help you pick that up." before Gwen notices Merlin's companion.

"And who is this?" She smiles down at the boy who simply gapes at her.

Merlin sighs, "This is Arthur. We found him in the forest this morning."

Gwen doesn't seem to hear anything past the…boy's name.

"Arthur." She has that look on her face, the one that says, _really now._

"Yes!" Merlin says, "His name is really Arthur. His parents were killed by bandits."

Immediately the disbelief on Gwen's face melts into compassion.

"Oh poor child." She kneels down in front of…him to be on his level.

"Hello there." She smiles that gentle smile of hers. "My name is Gwen. It's very nice to meet you Arthur."

 _Arthur_ slowly reaches one tiny hand out to touch her cheek. Gwen looks surprised, but allows it.

"You're the Once and Future Queen." _Arthur_ says quietly, his small voice full of wonder.

Alright. That's not good.

Gwen shakes her head, laughing.

The laugh is more than a little strained, Merlin thinks.

"I'm not a queen, just a maidservant."

 _Arthur_ frowns. "You will be queen. Someday. And you'll be a good one!" He seems particularly stubborn about the last point, his little monster eyebrows furrowing towards each other with the force of his scowl.

The frown, however, does not disguise the way he's looking at Gwen. It's the same gaze of complete adoration that he'd given Arthur.

Merlin finds it a little disturbing.

Apparently Gwen does as well, because she stands and hastily gathers up the bundles of laundry she had been carrying before the collision. "It was lovely meeting you Arthur. I really have to get back to work now." She smiles a small, tense smile. "Be careful, alright."

And she flees. (There is no other word for it.)

Merlin sighs. Again. How could introducing _Albion_ to Gaius be any worse than that?

Someday, Merlin was going to have a talk with Fate about her sense of humor.


	3. In Which Gaius Meets Arthur (Again)

Gaius, it turns out, has a worse reaction than Gwen.

He turns around as Merlin enters with…Arthur on his heels.

"Merlin, I need you to-" he cuts off, his eyes wide.

Merlin sighs (yet again) and prepares to explain. (Yet again)

"You!"

That was not the reaction Merlin has been expecting at all, and it leaves him speechless for a moment. Gaius doesn't seem to notice.

"What are you doing here!" Gaius snaps at the boy as he practically dashes to the door, moving faster than Merlin has ever seen him move, slamming it shut behind them, before returning to the center of the room to glare at Merlin's companion.

"Are you witless?" He is trembling with rage. "If Uther sees you-"

"You know him?" Merlin manages to blurt out around his shock. Gaius turns the glare on him.

"Of course I know him!" he barks. "What were you thinking? Bringing him to Camelot!" Gaius is pacing now, from one side of the small tower to another.

Merlin just stares, not sure what to say.

Gaius comes to a halt in front of the "little boy."

"Do you even know what he is Merlin?"

"Well…" Merlin hesitates, reluctant to voice the creeping suspicions that have been gnawing on the edges of his thoughts. The Eyebrow climbs threateningly upwards.

"The other boy called him Albion."

Gaius looks surprised, the second Eyebrow joins the first. "Albion?" He turns on the topic of conversation. "I was under the impression that you are the personification of Logres?"

The "boy" nods. "I am. But I am also Albion." That frightening, adoring gaze returns to Merlin.

"Emrys is supposed to take care of me."

Gaius looks about ready to explode, and Merlin figures he had probably better do something before that happens.

"What is he Gaius?" He turns on his most pleading look, and allows the confusion and worry and frustration of the past day show.

Gaius sighs (Merlin can't help but feel vindictively pleased.) and sits down at the table. "I suppose you wouldn't know." He acknowledges as he gestures for Merlin and Albion to join him. They do so.

"Back before the purge," Gaius begins. "This boy lived here in Camelot, in the royal court." He raises a hand, silencing the question Merlin had been about to ask. "Many who had magic made Camelot their home in those days. Magic was viewed with suspicion everywhere, but here there was security of a sort." He pauses. "But that was not why he was here."

Albion nods solemnly.

"There is a kind of people," Gaius continues. "That represent nations. Caledonia, Rome, Cymru, Gaul, Hispania…" He pauses, giving _Albion_ a significant glance. "Logres."

"What do you mean," Merlin can hear his heart beating. It's very loud. "What do you mean Gaius, 'represent'."

"I am Albion." The _child_ pipes up. "That's what my Mam used to be named, before she died. She called me Logres, but since you and the Once and Future King have come I'll be bigger."

Merlin doesn't really know what to say to that, other than beg the boy to please stop looking at him with that look in his green eyes. (He resists the urge.) Gaius shakes his head.

"You can't come back yet Logres." His voice is stern. "Arthur may be the Once and Future King, but Uther still sits upon the throne of Camelot."

Logres/Albion frowns. "I'm tired of hiding Gaius." Suddenly he doesn't sound so young. He sounds old and tired. His eyes have changed from bright, green light to worn, sad windows. "Ever since Uther began this war against magic I have had to hide. I don't want to anymore."

Merlin takes a ragged breath and feels a strong kinship with the boy he has named Arthur.

Gaius himself seems to age ten years in the space of that same breath. "I understand. But I did not smuggle you out of Camelot and away from Uther, simply for you to come back too early and get yourself hurt."

"He can't kill me." Albion crosses his little arms and glares at the table, the effect is somewhat spoiled by his small stature, but the eyebrows actually do help him look more fierce.

"No." Gaius acknowledges. "But, he knows what you are, and he can hurt you." He leans forward. "If not for your own sake, then for the sake of your people, please wait at least until Arthur is king."

Merlin fidgets. "So you _are_ Albion?"

Gaius and Albion look at him.

"How is that possible?"

Albion shrugs. "It just is. I feel what happens to this land and these people. I am their hopes and dreams and fears. Their ideals and their darkest secrets." His eyes, so very green, seem to peer into Merlin's soul and he doesn't like it. "I suppose you could say that we are made of magic."

"Made of magic?" Merlin asks intrigued. "Really?"

Albion smiles, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "There are a great many creatures of Magic, if you know where to look. You are one such being. My kind are others."

"So there are others?" Merlin says. "Like the others in the forest? They are like you?"

Albion waves a hand in a dismissive gesture that is rather jarring coming from such a small person. "My brothers and sister. Rather barbaric unfortunately. They are all older than me save for Kernow, my younger sister. Her land is to the South and the East. Lady Morgana comes from there."

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?" Merlin can't help his curiosity, despite the look of disapproval from Gaius.

Albion counts them off on his stubby young fingers. "Caledonia is the eldest. He lives in the North, when Roma came they built a wall to keep him and his people out. Eire is second. She is an island to the West. A savage land, I haven't seen her in many years, not since I was very young, before Mam died. Cymru is third. He is your people, Essetir and Gwynedd and other, smaller kingdoms. Then there is me and Kernow." He looked around the tower room.

"Do you have anything to eat?"

And it was as if he was an ordinary child again.

As Gaius bustles around preparing a meal, Merlin sits at the table, head in his hands, trying to ignore the way the old piece of furniture wobbles as Albion kicks at one of the uneven legs.

What is he supposed to do?

According to Gaius it isn't safe here for Albion. Little Arthur. Uther knows about these magical people-who-are-not-people-but-so-much-more. These…Nations.

And somehow, Merlin has to figure out what to do.

Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logres is a form of the Welsh word Lloegr, an old name for the lands roughly corresponding to modern day England. Another name is Prydain, but although Prydain is actually more common historically, Logres/Lloegr is often associated with Arthurian legends, so I opted to use it instead.
> 
> And yes, Eire is Ireland.


End file.
